In the Mirror
by Skittles001
Summary: It's the 63rd Hunger Games, and Keely Tanner prepares for the reaping. This will be her last reaping. And it's one to remember. Please R&R and I hope you like it. Rated T for upcoming violence. PLEASE REVIEW!
1. The Last Reaping

The 16th.

The day of the reaping.

Also, coincidentally, the day of my seventeenth birthday.

I pull a face in the mirror, fluffing my flaming red curls until they look mildly presentable, when I hear a cough from behind me.

"Some of us aren't naturally beautiful like you, sis." I say and she narrows her eyes.

"Keely, you do realise we're twins, don't you?"

"Yes, Skylar, but thank you so much for pointing that out." She sticks out her tongue at me, and I laugh.

"Happy birthday." I say, and she smiles.

"You too."

As I leave the bathroom, and watch my mirror image piece herself together in the mirror, one thought crosses my mind: If we make it through this reaping, it will be the best gift I could ever imagine.

"Keely, Skylar, we have to go." My father calls from the kitchen. I fix the blue bow on my head, and wait for Skylar.

She exit's the bathroom, fixes her red bow, and we take each others hand and squeeze.

This is it. Our last reaping.

This time next year, it'll all be over.

* * *

The plaza is swarmed, the heat radiating off the walls as people push against each other, trying to make room. The reaping is a mandatory event, which no one particularly likes to see coming. Here in District 9, the plaza is the only feasible place for this kind of congress, since the district consists of a vast forest-that stretches for as far as the eye can see and more; like an endless ocean of evergreen- and the factories for processing the food that we hunt. My father is the head hunter in the district. He has taken me and my sister out on a few occasions. Skylar hates it. She hates to see the blood, hates to hear the wounded cry of the animals as they collapse into the ground after a barrage of arrows and bullets.

I don't have this problem.

To me, the animals are food.

I don't see them as beings.

I see them as survival.

We are corralled into the centre of the square, into orderly rows: boy, girl, boy, girl. The youngest at the far left, the eldest at the far right. The pool for reaping is growing slimmer by the year. I feel a twisting in my chest as I remember previous reapings, where friends and family have gone to fight.

None have returned.

Jackson, Taylor, Kendra…

Xander.

I swallow and try to forget him. I try to forget the aching in my chest and the memory of his face as he slowly closed the gap between us, the light glinting in his green eyes and the smile on his face as we shared our first kiss.

Our only kiss.

A week later he was reaped.

I shake my head and force the feelings into a little ball in the pit of my stomach. If I made it through the reaping, I would go into the forest, throw a few knives and take it out on the trees.

Because in the forest, if you are alone, you can scream as loud as you want.

After all, if no one is there to hear it, it does not exist.

The pain does not exist.

I close my eyes, count to five and try to control my breathing. Keeping calm is the name of the game. I will not show my fear, I will not show weakness.

I won't give them the satisfaction.

I heave one heavy grating sigh and glance over my shoulder, searching for Skyler. I see her poised on her tip toes, in a dress identical to mine, searching the surrounding crowd frantically, until her shoulders visibly relax. She sees him.

Zane stands a good head and shoulders over the rest of the crowd and meets her gaze. He smiles reassuringly, mouthing an "I love you" that Skylar quickly reciprocates.

I smile to myself while ignoring the sense of longing in my chest. Skylar had found her one, her only. I was happy for her, but sometimes I wondered…

Would I ever find mine?

Or had he already been buried six-foot underground.

* * *

Feedback hisses through the speakers, burning my ears. I wince at the cacophonous sound, and steel myself for the commentary.

This was it, finally. The reaping.

My last reaping.

"Welcome, Ladies and Gentleman," A short man with a balding head and a paunch fiddles with the microphone so that he can speak into it. One of the previous victors, a man now in his forties, steps forward and releases the catch, allowing it to adjust to his height. The man thanks him and continues his speech.

"And what a beautiful day it is. Why, it's perfect for a reaping." He waits for assent, but is met with a heavy silence.

The reaping is not a beautiful thing. It is ugly, marred, diseased, pock-marked, horrendous, and just plain cruel. I, like so many others around me, wish the weather would reflect that instead of taunting us.

"Now, shall we get this show on the road?" he asked, and once again was met with silence. He grows frustrated, but says nothing.

"May the odds be ever in your favour." the words boom through the speakers, but all I hear is the thundering rush of blood in my ears.

"The girl tribute for the 63rd Hunger Games is…."

I wait with bated breath, hoping and praying that it's not me.

"Skylar Tanner."

It's not me.

It's worse than that.


	2. Deception

I was rooted to the ground, paralysed by my own fear, struck dumb from denial.

No.

No way.

Not Skylar.

It couldn't be.

I see her step from the orderly line, her head held high, shoulders back, as she walked towards the podium. When she passes me, I see the sparkling of tears on her cheeks; sunlight making her face glow.

Skye was always the good one, the kind one.

We always joked that I was the evil twin.

So why was she being punished?

But even as she passed, and I caught the faint whiff of the perfume that Zane had bought her last year, the quiver of her lip as she neared the stage and the absolute fear radiating from her eyes- even then, I said nothing.

Because I was scared.

Because I didn't want to die.

It was our last year. What were the odds?

But the again, Fate never has been a friend of mine.

"Do we have any volunteers?" Skylar steps onto the stage, and all that meets her is silence.

"All right then," the man grins broadly, offering Skye an encouraging smile, which makes her flinch.

"Skylar!" Zane's broken cry slices through me like a seven inch blade. He pushes his way through the crowd, fighting off those trying to hold him back before he got himself hurt; but Zane was a broken man.

His eyes settle on me, those wild, fevered eyes, and I burn from the resentment he sends my way, the hatred he doesn't even try to hide. He races towards me while followed by some of his friends, who grasp at his arms, trying to hold him back. I brace myself for what's to come. The verbal abuse, the accusations…

The truth.

What I didn't expect was for him to hit me, full force, across the face.

I fall to the ground, groaning from the pain and jamming my tongue against my newly loose tooth as the taste of copper, of blood, fills my mouth.

"You!" Zane spat, lunging towards me again, this time sidelined by Peacekeepers taking charge. "How could you? Your sister….How…." Zane runs off, wiping tears from his eyes as the male tribute is pulled.

It's Archer Penhallow.

And I don't particularly care, although I should.

Because more than the sting of Zane's fist connecting with my jaw, is knowing he's right. I've let my sister go to her own death.

And there's nothing I can do about it.

* * *

We are taken to the town hall to say our goodbyes, and my mind goes numb. What am I going to say to Skye? How will I face her?

What if she hates me?

Worse, what if she doesn't?

I know as I think it, that Skylar will understand. She'll know I was scared. She'll know that even if I wanted to help her that this is how it was meant to be.

And then she'll tell me it's okay.

But it's not.

It's not okay.

My mother is pale and shaking. The muscles in my fathers jaw twitch and jump like the earth after a tremor. The aftershock of the situation.

From the corner of my eye, I see Cam Oakes, Zane's best friend, dragging Zane toward the Town hall. Zane sees me and averts his eyes, and I fell the burning of shame pulse through me.

"You get ten minutes." The Peacekeeper says, nodding at us to enter.

The tension in the room is palpable. I can hardly breathe, the tension mounting in my chest.

Skylar stands at the top of the room, staring out the window. A squeak exits my mothers mouth, breaking out from beneath the clasped hands held over her lips.

Skye turns her head towards us, and half smiles. "It's a beautiful day," she says, "I'm glad I got to see it. One last time."

My mother's resolve breaks and she jumps to Skylar, embracing her and both of them quake with grief. Scorching hot tears flow from my eyes, the bitter sting reminding me of what I have done…

Or rather, what I haven't.

My mothers tells Skylar over and over that she loves her, My father grips her and shakes his head back and forth, saying it isn't right, it shouldn't be happening, and that he loves her too.

It's almost too much to bear.

"Your turn." Zane says from my right.

I freeze from his proximity, but shake my head. "I can't. Not yet. You go."

"You think I can?" his voice breaks from emotion, but I say nothing. No words pass between us. Nothing can be said. We both know that we would do anything to keep her, and that there is nothing that we can do.

Skylar pulls her red ribbon from her head, and I automatically do the same. We are like two halves of a whole, in a way. Constantly mirroring the other. She moves, I move.

Not for much longer.

I feel another tear in my chest, and watch as Zane pulls Skylar to his chest, openly weeping.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." he says.

"No," Skye pulls back and cups his face with her hand, staring longingly and lovingly into his deep brown eyes, memorising every crevice of his handsome face. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I can't be there for you…"

She steps on her tip toes and whispers in his ear, words that I catch from my close proximity to the two.

"I'm sorry that _we _can't be there for you." She kisses Zane softly on the lips and places his hand on her stomach. Her dress billows around her knees, identical to mine, but his hand falls on a small mound in her middle.

_She's pregnant._ I realise, and watch Zane's tortured expression as he kisses Skylar goodbye, losing her and his baby all in one day.

No wonder he hit me.

I stare out the window and watch our reflections, eyes blurring from white-hot grief.

That's when it hits me like a lightning bolt.

What has to be done.

Skylar wraps her red ribbon around Zane's wrist and I stare at my own. The only difference between me and Skye, the only discernible way to tell us apart, is my sun shaped birthmark, neatly hidden on the pale white skin of my wrist. Skylar has nothing.

I race towards Skylar, cogs turning, mind racing and grasp her tightly.

"Can you give us a minute alone?" I ask, my voice cracking. They think it's from grief. It's really from nerves.

Mom and Dad flinch, but agree. "Thanks," I say. "I love you guys." They raise an eyebrow but leave without a word, too consumed with grief. Zane slowly follows suit. The door clicks shut behind us. We are alone.

We have two minutes left together.

It's enough.

I grasp Skye tighter and pull her forward, one of my hands inching out of the embrace. I pull back to look at her.

"I love you Skye."

"I love you too, Keely." she whispers.

And with those words, I punch her in the face.

* * *

Skylar hits the ground out cold, while my fist throbs from the force of my swing. I plant my blue ribbon in her hand, clasp it shut, and fall to the ground, messing up her hair so she looks even more like me. I have a powerful backhand, so she was unconscious on contact.

"I'm sorry." I whisper in her ear, "I had to do it. I love you." I kiss the skin on her cheek, hoping it doesn't bruise too badly, and scream bloody murder. The Peacekeeper runs in, gun raised and ready to fire. The tears in my eyes make my explanation all the more believable.

After all, who can question an emotional girl going to her death?

"Keely…she just…_collapsed!" _I cry, imitating Skylar's intonation and hand movements. After years of sharing a room, you pick up a few things about one another.

The Peacekeeper races forward, taking her pulse, while I punch the ground repeatedly, seemingly out of grief, but really it's to hide my tattered knuckles.

"She's fine. Just out-cold." he says in such a matter of fact tone that I wonder if he's been programmed that way.

"It's time to go." he says gruffly.

"But my family…" I only say it to keep up the pretence. I can't see them. They'll try to stop me.

"Your time is up. The train is waiting. It's time to go."

And with that, I am ushered out the door, onto the train and to the Capitol.

Let the 63rd Hunger Games begin


	3. Watching as the world spins madly on

**Watching the world through a window is kind of eerie. Every thing blurs by, as the speeding train rallies towards the Capitol, and I can't help but think that this is what my life is like: speeding at an unearthly pace, until suddenly it will come to a stop and I will reach my final destination, whether I want to or not. I leaned my forehead against the pane of glass, close my eyes and think of home. **

**By now, they'll have realised what I have done, and I hope they have the foresight to never utter another word about it. It could end in disaster for us all. **

**And poor Skylar. She's going to have a wicked black eye, if the one Zane gave me is an indicator. I couldn't just give her the sleeper hold my dad taught me when I was younger. Everyone saw Zane knock three shades out of me at the Reaping. If the mark suddenly disappeared….**

**However, I can't say I regret the decision I made. **

**For my family. **

**For my sister. **

**For my little niece or nephew. **

**It had to be done. **

**There was a soft knock on the compartment door which rouses me from my reverie. I wipe my tear-filled eyes, and reassure myself, once again, that I had to do this, even if I don't want to…**

**Even though I know I'm going to die. **

**At least I'm dying for someone I love. **

**But no one will ever know. **

**I yank the hair on my head and stuff my fist into my mouth to stifle my scream. This is the third time the panic has set in, when I realise what I have just done, and like the other times, it'll pass, and eventually I will come to accept it. **

**Knock Knock Knock. **

**The sound becomes more persistent and I glower at the door. **

"**What?" I yell, throwing myself back against the long, purple velvet seat in my compartment and dab at my eyes. The door slides back and Archer Penhallow lets himself in. **

**What do you want?" I mumble, radiating all my pent up frustration into my tone. I know I have to keep in character, but even Skylar would be pissed if she was sent to the Capitol. I'm just acting like she would. **

**At least that's what I keep telling myself. **

**Then I realise that Skye would probably be nicer to Archer. After all, he's in the exact same situation. **

**Archer shuts the door quietly and turns to face me. He's tall, really tall. He must have grown since I saw him last. We used to be in the same class in school, but he was bumped up a grade. It was almost unheard of, but Archer was too intelligent to stay behind. We used to be friends. He sat beside me each day in class, and we would play together at lunch. Then he moved, and I figured he had moved on. **

"**Why did you do it?" My eyes snapped up to meet his. His deep, dark eyes fixated on my face, searching for the answer to a question that hadn't been asked. **

"**Excuse me?"**

"**Why did you do it, Keely?" **

**My heart stopped in my chest and I watched his face. He remained stoic, calm, but his voice betrayed an edge of sadness, desperation, even incredulity. Archer was always very complex. **

**But how did he know?**

"**Keel…what?" I laughed, trying to sound convincing. "No, thankfully she's at home. I couldn't bear her to be here." It sounded real, because I knew that's how Skye would feel, and my heart broke at the thought of her waking and realising what I had done. She would never want me to sacrifice myself for her. **

**But it wasn't her choice, was it?**

"**Don't." Archer raised a hand and fixed me with a glare that turned my blood to ice in my veins. "Don't even try it." **

**I knew I couldn't fool him. Knew it like I knew my name, my life, the back of my hand. **

"**How did you…?"**

"**Your birthmark is quite unusual, isn't it?" he said, in a casual tone, like talking about the weather. I froze and cursed myself. I had to keep my hand at my side from now on.**

"**Archer…"**

"**Why?" he wanted an answer. **

"**I had to. It had to be done."**

"**But why you?" **

"**Who else?"**

**I could see the anguish in his face, the absolute torment. Then he turned away, unlocked the door and I heard him say "I don't want you to die."**

**The door clicked shut. **

**I don't want that either, I thought. **

**But we can't always get what we want. **


	4. The Promises We Make

The rest of the journey just passed in a string of events that began to merge into one another. Was the meeting with our mentor and the chariot ride _really_ on the same day, or was I just too dazed to decipher the difference?

"Skylar? Is that okay?"

I felt a foot slam into mine underneath the table and snapped back to the present, rather than dwelling in the past.

"What?"

"I said," Cynthia Garner fixed me with a withering glare from across the dining table, tucking a strand of her auburn bob behind her ear in irritation. "Is that okay with you, Ms. Tanner?"

I hadn't the foggiest as to what she was asking me, so I just placed my most Skylar-like smile on my face, nodded and said "Sure thing."

Archer's shoulder began to sink beside me, and I cast him a curious look from the corner of my eye when Cynthia was distracted by an Avox serving her coffee.

"So, it's agreed then. You and Archer will not work together in the arena."

My eyes went wide, but I quickly hid it and nodded.

This is why you _listen _when people ask you things.

Cynthia left us, and it was just me and Archer, sat silently at the dining table.

"So, Tanner," Archer took a sip from his coffee and slammed the cup down on the table. He winced at the sound and turned to me "You Don't want to work with me?"

"You know fully well that I wasn't listening…but no, I don't want to work with you, for your information."

"Way to be blunt."

"That's how I roll."

"Can I ask why?"

"Sure," I shrugged.

Archer rolled his eyes and stood up from the table. "Right, I forgot how pedantic you could be. _May _I ask why?"

_Crap, I can't slip up like that again. _Skylar gets straight Ds in English. I can't be myself any more. I have to be there for her. I have to _be_ her.

"Look, I don't want to have to kill you in the arena."

"What?"

"If it boils down to the two of us…I wouldn't want to kill you."

"I wouldn't want to…"

"Promise me one thing?" I pushed the seat back and faced Archer. I inclined my head to meet his eyes, but felt myself desperately wanting to look away. There was an infinite sadness held in those dark pools, the kind that only other contestants could understand. I knew that my eyes were the same. I faced that truth every time I look in the mirror, and have to look away just as quickly before I broke down once more.

"Anything," Archer reached for my hand, but I moved out of his reach. I fixed him with a steady gaze to make sure he understood how much I meant this.

"If I die, you win."

"What?"

"Look, I know the odds are against us. Hell, they aren't in anyone's favour right now, but I know one thing. My family needs this. Your family needs this. _Our District_ needs us to win this. So I say we do it. For us. For _them_."

Archer looked uncomfortable, but nodded. "I'll try."

"No." my voice cracked from anger, "don't try. Do it!"

"Archer's eyes widened but then grew narrow. "I can't promise that."

"Just do it." I grabbed him and wrapped my arms around his neck, breathing in that typically Archer scent- lemons and rosemary- before my whispered words caressed his ear and I felt him tense beneath me. "Promise me you'll survive this. If our friendship meant anything to you, you'll do it."

Archer froze, and I pulled back and met his eyes. They were the colour of rain-soaked bark after a thunderstorm. One solitary tear rolled down his cheek, paused on his chin, and fell on the skin of my bare arm. "I promise." he whispered.

"Thank you." I smiled, and kissed him on the cheek. I felt him incline his head, but I pulled back and pretended it didn't happen.

This was not the time for romance.

This was the time for action.

I hugged him gently again and strolled towards the door, going back to my room to let the stylists prepare me for the Games.

Archer's voice stopped me in my tracks as I pulled the sliding door open. "Why did you do that?"

I half-turned and saw the equal parts of anger and anguish painted on his face.

"Do what?"

"Make me promise?"

I bent my head and half-smiled. "Because I know you."

"What? "

"You don't break your promises."


	5. Running into the fire

Twenty-four identical tubes stood in a circle facing one another in the arena. It was like two clocks had merged together and each number was a contestant.

Archer stood about ten feet away from me. I turned in his direction and half-smiled, which he reciprocated, if reluctantly. We hadn't really spoken since we made our agreement, just offered casual commentary on the weather and made self-deprecating jokes every so often to lighten the sombre mood that filled each and every day we stayed in the Capitol.

But now, the time had come. Finally.

"Ladies and Gentleman," Claudius Templesmith's iconic booming voice filled the arena. I remember sitting on my living room floor each year, as his familiar voice always brought a sense of dread, yet familiarity. Now that I was one of the contestants themselves, it sent bursts of adrenaline pulsing through my veins. "Hello and welcome to the 63rd annual Hunger Games here in the Capitol. You've met our contestants, and have picked your favourites. The sponsors have been battling over whom to back, and bets are pouring in, but you can still have your say as the Games progress. This will be a truly heated contest, so let's get down to it.

Contestants will be released from their elevators ten seconds after the canon. If any contestant does not meet this requirement, they will be exterminated. Once these ten seconds are up, contestants are free to join the games. Supplies and weapons will be found at the Cornucopia itself.

Get ready.

And may the odds be ever in your favour."

I scanned the area around me. Backpacks lay about 50 feet from my podium, but I only counted twelve. Of course there were only twelve. It made the games just that much _more_ exciting.

The canon rang out, much like the blood singing in my ears.

_Think, think, think._ The constant mantra didn't help matters.

Seven seconds left. There was a forest, and a river, and mountains in the east, as far as I could tell.

Right. I would try for a backpack. One would get thrown around in the scuffle. Although that would mean getting caught in the bloodbath…

_BOOM. _

_BOOM. _

_BOOM._

My ears rang and I whipped my head around looking for the podiums that just killed their contestants.

_Not Archer. Please let it not be Archer. _

Archer was fine, although startled by the sound.

Three down. Twenty to go.

3.

2.

Deep Breath

1...

Run.

I darted out of the podium as quickly as I could and raced to the Cornucopia. So did ten other contestants. I dove to the ground when a Career reached a crossbow and began haphazardly firing, hitting three contestants without a second's hesitation. I crouched onto my haunches and cast a glance around me. The girl from District 3 had caught me in her line of fire and came at me with a machete. My heart jumped into my throat, and I ran. I ran like hell. Another arrow sailed past my skull, and I saw a backpack up ahead. Some contestants were engaged in hand-to-hand combat, blood spattering across the grass like red ash falling from the sky.

Pain crept up my arm as a knife lodged itself into my bicep. I cried out but kept going. I had to keep going. I yanked out the knife and dodged another before grabbing the bag's handle in the crook of my arm and running like hell to the forest.

I didn't stop.

I couldn't.

The mountains seemed like the best option. I could get my feel for the lay of the land and see any incoming contestants. But I wouldn't have the cover of the forest, or the close proximity to water that I would by the creek.

Up ahead I saw a cave and diverted my track toward it. It was worn into rock in the far end of the forest. If I could scale the rock face, I could gain height and get closer to the mountain, but further from the river.

Damn, being a contestant was harder than anyone could have thought possible.

Branches crackled in the forest not too far behind me, and I knew someone was coming. Looking around, I noticed one of the trees near the cave would let me lie on top. My arm was still bleeding, so I ripped my t-shirt with the knife, bandaged the wound, held the non-serrated edge between my teeth and scaled the tree. I threw myself from one branch to another, thankful that I had a fascination with climbing as a kid. There was one big branch left, and there was a gap between it and the top of the rock face. I tried to pull myself on, but my hands were slick with sweat and I began to slip. Struggling to keep my grip, I bean to panic. Panicking was never a good idea, particularly in a life and death situation.

Finally I balanced myself out, lying against the branch and distributing myself across it evenly. Crawling like a caterpillar seemed to be the best bet, and finally I neared the edge. I flipped my legs over the branch, straddling it, and tried to find my balance. Balance was key here. Without it, I'd be sent crashing into hard and solid ground, and maybe another canon would roar.

Just as the thought sprang into my mind, the canon roared one time after another. Counting the blasts, I found that another eight contestant's game was over.

12 contestants left. Already, this was a fast-paced game.

One foot on the branch, I picked myself up before placing the other firmly in front of its twin. There was a five foot gap.

I could make it.

One deep breath. Two deep breaths. Three deep breaths.

And jump.

I missed the mark. I grappled for the ledge, grabbing rocks firmly between my fingers.

"No, no no no no no…..C'mon…." My arm throbbed, but I couldn't let that stop me. I heaved myself over the ledge. "You can do this." My stomach hit ground, and my legs shortly followed. My back against the ground, I heaved my chest back and forth, almost laughing, but stopped because a contestant could be near. I peered over the edge, and saw a contestant dart out of the wood and into the cave.

Great. Just lost a hiding spot.

My bag slipped off my shoulder, and I sifted through the contents. Bread, a water bottle, a sleeping bag.

Excellent.

Underneath that?

Knives, knives and more knives.

Even more excellent.

I might have a chance in this thing after all.

Stuffing my bag, and yanking the zip shut, I groaned because my hair had gotten tangled in the zip. I tried to wrench it free, but it was melded into the metal. There was only one thing for it. The knife glittered in the sun beside me. I grabbed it with my good hand and sawed my hair free. As the flaming red strands floated away, realisation dawned. It was like a honing beacon for other contestants. Now that I thought about it, I was the only red head out of twenty four. Now that had dwindled down to 12, well….

This was a problem.

I pulled the bandage off my arm and looped it around my hair, before slicing quickly and painlessly.

I raked my hand through my hair, and when my hand fell through nothing, I felt strangely homesick. I'd been growing it out for the last three years. But it had to be done. The stray strands cured behind my ear and tickled my neck. I slipped the knife into my belt loop.

Screams pierced the air; blood curdling screams.

Looking down over the ledge, I saw the other contestant flee the cave, limping, blood covered and arm amputated.

What?

He fell to the ground, crying out in pain. He scrambled back across the forest floor, agonised screams escaping his lips.

When a gigantic bear trundled out of the cave, I understood why.

Its growls reverberated through the cave and the forest, launching jabberjays into the sky in flocks to flee.

The other contestant saw me from the ground and sent shooting daggers at me with his eyes through the blanket of tears staining his face. When the bear, the terrifying muttation, raised its claw for the death blow, and I turned away, squeezed my eyes shut and winced when I heard his final cry.

The canon blew.

It was all over.

The forest called to me, and I gathered my stuff and ran. I ran and just kept running.

Finally, after my chest almost collapsed from exhaustion and my throat burned from drought, I listened to the sounds of the forest and was thankful for the sounds of the river.

Following the sound was pretty easy; it flowed easily through the complete silence of the forest. Finally, up ahead, I saw the sparkling of the creek and the hint of a rainbow floating overhead. I dashed toward the river, falling to my knees in the silt. I splashed the water in my face, and filled my water bottle, pouring some of the water cleanser we had been given and waiting until it would be drinkable.

I leaned forward and watched my reflection in the river water. I fingered my new short bob with apprehension, grabbing some of the river silt and mud and smearing it across my scalp, quenching the flame.

I closed my eyes and listened. It was quiet.

Too quiet.

Rough hands grabbed me and threw me into the river, and I knew that I really should try to be a better listener.

It could be the death of me.


End file.
